Into the Past
by wRiTeR'S bLoCK is AWFUL
Summary: AU. All of Harry's friends die, after killing Voldemort he kills himself, accidentally sending himself into the past.


Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter

_You failed. You always fail. _

_Who are you, but a coward? You are nothing; an insignificant soul among thousands, begging for death. _

_He was sure his forehead had exploded, and it felt like something was tearing his very soul to pieces. He was sure he was dead; pain beyond endurance enveloped him, and he couldn't think, couldn't feel. High cold laughter vibrated inside his head, and then he was locked in the coils of a creature with red eyes, so tightly bound that He did not know where his body ended and the creature's began. They were fused together, bound by pain, and there was no escape[1] - _

_Slices appeared all over his body, blood gushing out of them, but he couldn't bring himself to care. The pain was beyond imagining, and he just wanted it to all and, to die. He had wanted to die for a long time._

* * *

_He felt as if something was pushing him back, somewhere he wasn't supposed to go, through a strong barrier that refused to yield. Dimly he felt pain coarse through his body as the barrier seemed to break, and his consciousness spinned out of control and into blackness._

_He was falling, faster and faster, into a void of nothingness, and his consciousness wass drifting apart, even as he tried to hold it together, searching for a handhold, a safe point, but there was nothing... nothing... nothing..._

_Suddenly, a force began pulling him away from the void. The void started struggling to pull him back into it, deeper and deeper, and for a few terrifying seconds, he began to worry it would succeed. Thankfully, the void gradually lost its hold on him, and he went smashing through a strangely familiar barrier. Spots danced on his vision, and then everything went black._

* * *

Pain engulfed his body as he slowly regained consciousness, and he dimly realized that he was trembling. Red spots danced in front of him as he tried to concentrate on where he was. The first thing he noticed was that he was in a soft bed. The next was that he was in a completely white room.

_'Constant vigilance,'_ said a voice in his head. Where was he, he wondered, panicking. _'When in unknown territory, always make sure you have your wand, or some sort of weapon.'_ His wand! Where was it? Dread swept over him, and his eyes searched the room desperately trying to spot it.

Heart thumping, and feeling like he'd been running for a very long time, he realized that every thing was blurry. What was going on, he wondered in anxiety. Maybe, he thought in alarm, he'd been captured by Death Eaters. Wait a second, what were Death Eaters?

To his extreme horror, the answer faded away as quickly as the thought passed through his mind. Had a Death Eater kidnapped him and removed his memories? Somehow, he knew that they hated him, and wanted him dead, though he couldn't remember why. With a start, he realized that he didn't even know who he was.

Pure terror overwhelmed him, and he didn't even realize that there was a strong wind blowing through his hair, or that there were voices coming from nearby. Before he could think, a red jet of light hit him in the chest, and he fell unconscious.

A teenager with messy black hair and bright green eyes blearily opened his eyes and looked around the room he was in, trying to ignore his throbbing headache. _Where was he?_ Suddenly, the events from before rushed to his mind, and he quickly sat up. A moment later, he regretted doing so; all of his energy had drained from his body, and he felt light-headed and dizzy.

By the entrance of the room he was in stood a motherly woman with kind brown eyes and light brown hair, and standing next to her was an old man with twinkling blue eyes, a long white beard, half-moon spectacles, a tall pointed hat, and long, black robes, both deep in conversation.

"...looks just like Mr. Potter." The woman was saying.

"You're right, he does. Perhaps he's a distant relative, but I can't be entirely sure. I'll have to ask Charles. The only thing I'm worried about is that his magic will get out of control again; it's not entirely stable, and taking into question the power in the accidental magic he just displayed in front of us, that makes him dangerous."

"How dangerous?"

To say the woman was shocked would have been an understatement.

"Well, I'm not entirely sure myself," replied the old man, seemingly unfazed. "If you're feeling up to it, could you tell us who exactly you are?"

"I'm –" he stopped in midsentence. "I can't remember."

_Scream, scream for me, and I will grant you your freedom. _

"That's perfectly fine. Your memories will most likely come back in a few days."

"Who are you?"

"Albus Percival Wilfred Brian Dumbledore, to be exact," replied Dumbledore, eyes twinkling. "Headmaster of Hogwarts, school of witchcraft and wizardry."

* * *

_A haggard-looking man with casual black hair was dueling with a feverish, fanatical woman, with a gaunt, hollow face. The man ducked a jet of red light coming from the woman's wand, laughing. "Come on, you can do better than that!" Abruptly, a second jet of light hit him straight in the chest. Eyes widening in shock, he fell backwards through a ragged black veil, and it seemed as though time slowed down as he disappeared behind it._

_"SIRIUS!"_

* * *

Harry woke up with a start, his messy black hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. His whole body was trembling, and a torrent of grief swept over him. Dead… he could picture the man's lean, once-handsome face, with a look of fear and surprise on it. Guilt, anger, and pain…who was this man? Brushing back his moist, sticky hair from his forehead, he slowly lay back in the bed. It was probably one of the flashbacks Dumbledore had warned him about.

It was a long time before he finally fell, exhausted, into darkness.

* * *

_He was looking at a trembling boy who was lying in a heap in front of him, wrists chained together with heavy, metal cuffs. Cloaked figures stood by the sides of the room he was in, but he ignored them, looking instead at the boy who one of his followers had deposited by his feet as he sat in his throne. Lips curling in a sneer, he turned to the cloaked figure in question, and asked him –_

_"Who is this?"_

_"A mudblood, I found him on the run." Taking out his wand, he twirled it absentmindedly in his long, pale, spidery fingers. _

_"Who are you?" he cold, emotionless voice echoed through the chamber. The mudblood didn't move, just lay on the cold stone floor. He smirked when he saw the mudblood's blodied and torn shirt, and turned his hard gaze to his Death Eaters; _

_"He is a member of the Order," the cloaked figure hastened to add. " I think he may have information on where Potter is."_

_"Only seventeen. My, my, the Order must be getting desperate to be letting seventeen-year-olds join. But why, may I ask, did you not deem it necessary to deliver him to me… conscious? I cannot ask him anything if he is not awake." His follower stiffened, then said, "He refused to come silently."_

_"And four Death Eaters weren't enough bind him before he could even attempt to harm you?" He knew, of course, why, and he wasn't at all pleased. Deciding to let his Death Eaters off for the moment, he turned to the mudblood, sneering when he saw them relax visibly, believing they were off the hook. How very wrong they were._

_Thin, spidery hands carelessly twirled his wand…"Enervate."_

_The teenager stirred slightly, and opened his eyes, seemingly dazed. Looking around, all the blood drained from his face when he realized where he was and who was in front of him. Hands shaking, his eyes moved upwards to look straight at the cloaked man on the throne above him, watching in horrid fascination as the man lowered his hood, revealing a snakelike face with two, thin slits of eyes, with dark red pupils..._

_Number 12, Grimmauld's Place. _

_The mudblood's eyes widened in horror, and Voldemort smirked._

_"Avada Kedavra."_

* * *

"Prongs, come over there! There's a boy who looks exactly like you in that bed!" There were more hurried footsteps, and then the same voice said,

"You never told us you had a twin."

"I don't, Padfoot. I've never seen him before in my life!"

"Do you think he's dead?"

"Are you daft, Wormtail? Of course he's not dead! He's still breathing!"

"Oh, right. But he _is_ really pale."

"Moony, what are you doing?"

"Checking the Map. It'll tell us what his name is."

"Good idea! I always said you were the only clear headed one here!"

"Hey!"

"Sorry," said the voice, not sounding very sorry at all.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good." Those words sounded strangely familiar. He heard the sound of rustling parchment, and one of the boys said,

"Padfoot, something's not right. How come he's not on the map?"

"I don't know, Moony, maybe he's under some kind of protection spell to keep people from recognizing him. Oh, I know! He was probably on the run from some Death Eaters, and Dumbledore rescued him and brought him here!"

"But then wouldn't Dumbledore have taken him to Saint Mungos?"

"Well… maybe Dumbledore was afraid the Death Eaters would find him again."

"Maybe…" the voice sounded doubtful.

Harry had opened his eyes a fraction of an inch, intending to see who this mysterious quartet of boys was, when he froze in shock, whole body stiffening. _Sirius. Sirius Black_. _Padfoot. His nickname. Sirius's friends had called him that._ Who was Sirius, and why did the teen seem to mean so much to him? How come he'd only just remembered his name?

"Prongs, he's waking up." A whisper, hushed, came from Sirius's mouth. All four boys turned to stare at Harry, and, abandoning his act of being asleep, he opened them fully and looked at them, avoiding Sirius's curious gaze.

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Black, Mr. Pettigrew and Mr. Lupin, why are you disturbing my patient? He needs to rest, now get out of here!" The woman Dumbledore had identified for him as Madam Pomfrey had just walked into the room, and upon noticing the four boys around Harry's bed, started to yell at them.

"But –"

"OUT!"

"I want to know –"

"NOW!"

"–why he looks exactly like me!"

"If the headmaster deems it necessary for you to know who my patient is, he will tell you! Now _leave_!" Reluctantly, the four boys allowed themselves to be shepherded out of the room.

"Here. Drink this." The woman handed Harry a vial holding a think, milky-white liquid. _Never drink an unidentified liquid, and always check it for poisons. Even better, don't accept liquids from anyone. Keep a flask on you. It's far too easy to add a potion such as Veritaserum into a liquid, and many potions are impossible to detect._

With an exasperated look at Harry, the woman added, "It's not poisoned. It's just a Post-Cruciatus potion." Tentatively, Harry opened the cap of the vial, and sniffed the liquid inside.

"You put a sleeping potion in here." He accused, although he didn't know how he knew this. The woman stared at him, clearly shocked. "How did you know that?" Harry shrugged, and replied, "What does it matter? I'm not drinking this."

Clearly miffed, the woman walked out of the room, and came back with another vial of white liquid. "Fine. This one has nothing added to it." Removing the cap, the teenager quickly smelled it, just to be sure, and then downed the whole bottle. Almost instantly, a cooling sensation spread throughout his body, and he relaxed into the bed, letting out a sigh of relief.

"Thanks." He handed her the empty vial, and she walked away, muttering about patients who didn't know what was good for them. As she was closing the door, Harry heard footsteps tiptoeing inside the room. Frowning, he stared at the place he heard them coming from, and a fluid, silvery-grey cloak fell to the ground, revealing the foursome who'd been ushered away from the room only a minute ago.

"Why do you –"

"How did –"

"–need a Post-Cruciatus potion?"

"–you do that?"

Harry stared at them blankly.

"Sirius," hissed Moony in an undertone, "that was rude. You don't even know him." Turning to Harry, he gestured to James, and added, "What my eloquent friend over here was trying to ask you was: how did you know there was sleeping potion in the vial?"

"And I –" began Sirius,

"Was about to shut up," inserted Remus.

"Hey!"

Head aching from trying to follow their conversation, Harry told them, "I don't know how I knew there was sleeping potion in the vial."

"Weird."

"Sirius..."

"What is it, Remus?"

"You're hopeless,"

"I am not!"

"– and terribly insensitive."

Sirius scowled at Moony. "And you're rude."

"And you're Sirius," replied Moony.

"Since when has Sirius ever been serious?" Asked James with a grin.

"Never, that's when." Sirius joked.

I don't get it." Wormtail interrupted.

"Remus, Wormtail's the one who's hopeless."

"Hey!"

"Guys, we're being rude. We haven't even introduced ourselves! I'll go first," Sirius told Harry. "I am Sirius Black, prankster extraordinaire, and the most handsome person in this school."

"And the one with the biggest head," added Remus.

"Yup, you can't forget that! I am James Potter, future chaser for the Chudley Cannons! I'm also going to become an Auror, and will marry a pretty redhead who goes by the name Lily Evans."

"If she stops hexing you every time you get near her," Remus put in.

"Yeah, that'll prove to be a problem. But I'm sure she'll say yes, seeing as she's turned you down every time you've asked her to go to Hogsmeade with you." Sirius said sarcastically. "This here is Remus Lupin, the bookworm in the Marauders. He's the smartest student in our grade. But don't let him fool you – he can be extremely devious when he chooses to be."

Remus's cheeks flushed red, and he muttered, "I'm not the smartest one in our grade."

"Sure you aren't."

"And I'm Peter Pettigrew," Wormtail quickly interrupted, probably because he didn't want Sirius to introduce him. "I'm –"

"Not very bright –" Sirius continued,

"Hey!"

"What? I'm telling the truth!"

"I'm not stupid!"

"I never said you were."

"Yes you did! You said –"

"Would you two stop fighting?" asked James, sounding annoyed.

"We're not fighting."

"Yes you – Never mind. Anyways, what's your name?" This question was directed at Harry.

"Harry." His voice was almost inaudible.

"What's your surname?"

"Longbottom," Harry blurted out the first name that came to his head, and then quickly clamped a hand over his mouth. Where had that come from?

Looking at him oddly, Sirius asked, "You're related to Frank Longbottom?"

"No – I mean yes – I mean –" Harry stopped in midsentence.

"Leave it, Sirius. He probably just doesn't want to tell us, maybe for a good reason."

"I'm not going to go blurting his name out to a Death Eater!"

Remus sighed. "Why don't we go down to the kitchens for a small snack?"

Sirius's face split into a grin. "Great idea! C'mon Prongs, Wormtail." Less than ten seconds later, the room was completely deserted, except for Harry.

Head aching, he lay down in his bed. It was a while before he drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

_"NOOOOOO!" A scream tore itself from his lips, and tears flowed helplessly down his cheeks as he looked at a dead, lifeless body, scarred face relaxed and peaceful; brown, graying hair curtained it. "You weren't supposed to die," he whispered brokenly. "What's Tonks going to do without you? And Teddy? You promised...YOU PROMISED!" Emerald eyes shining with grief, he tore at his hair with his hands. "I hate you. Why did you leave me?"_

* * *

Harry woke up, anguished resentment wrenching his heart, hands shaking violently. He put his head in his hands, taking deep, shuddering breaths. If this was what his future was like, he was entirely sure he wanted to remember it. His voice echoed hauntingly in his ears. _Why did you leave me?_

* * *

"How is our young patient doing?"

"I've just given him some Post-Cruciatus potion. A little bit of rest, some food, and he'll be as right as rain. I'm not so sure about his mental health, however."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, to put it plainly, most people would have gone insane from the amount of exposure he had to the torture curse. Perhaps that is what caused him to lock up all his memories. Perhaps he _wanted_ to forget everything. I really don't know. Who would've done something like this to an innocent teenager?"

A sigh. "I don't know Poppy."

* * *

[1] = Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (815-816) by J.K. Rowling

Please review, and tell me what you think. As you can probably see, I did some monstrous editing (well, maybe not monstrous), and condensed everything into one chapter.

I'll try and get the next chapter up next week.


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